The Charming Ex-Wife

Chapter 7 You Shouldn’t Touch That Pocket

and inquired, “Josiah, are you alright?” He gazed at her for a moment before recognizing her and shook his head slightly. “I’m fine.” Their conversation was hushed, preventing the drunken group from overhearing. Assuming she was hotel staff, they moved to grab her while exclaiming, “Who do you think you are to approach Josiah like this? Are you out of your…” However, Josiah pulled his hand, shielded Lysander behind him, and sternly stated, “Don’t touch her.” “Josiah, why are you defending her? This woman seems to have ulterior motives. I’ve encountered many like her.” “She’s my wife.” The drunkard sobered up instantly, his face turning pale as he looked at Lysander being protected by Josiah. He then turned to Lysanne, whose face was pale, and asked with confusion, “If she’s your wife, then what about Lysanne?” All eyes shifted to Lysanne standing in the back who was still clutching onto Josiah’s suit jacket, She appeared displeased with a hint of redness around her eyes. “I’ve said it before. Josiah and I are just friends.” Despite her smile, it seemed strained and unnatural. The onlookers were not oblivious to the complexity of the situation. Lysanne’s expression hinted at something more was at play. “Josiah, you and Lysanne…” Regaining his composure, Josiah returned to his usual demeanor and softly replied, “It’s getting late. Let’s all head home. Lysander, let’s go.” Lysander nodded in agreement. “Okay.” She then turned to Lysanne and extended her hand. “Thank you, Miss Thorne. You can give me Josiah’s jacket.” Lysanne clung onto the suit jacket tightly refusing to let go. “I’ll be going back with you anyway, so I’ll hold onto it.” With many onlookers, Lysander hesitated for a moment before relenting, “Alright, I have to help Josiah walk. Thank you, Miss Thorne.” Then, Josiah interjected, “Let’s go.” Walking ahead with Josiah, Lysanne followed behind with his coat as they exited, leaving the spectators inside bewildered. “What just happened?” “I have no clue…” Miles approached with a glass of wine, downed it in one go, shook his head, and sighed, “One should seize opportunities when they arise; don’t wait until it’s too late to take action.” “Hahaha! Miles, the poetic drunkard, what’s that supposed to mean? We don’t get it.” “It means—” He suddenly